


And Let Die

by valeriange



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valeriange/pseuds/valeriange
Summary: Jazz doesn’t even remember getting shot.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 3
Kudos: 126





	And Let Die

Jazz didn’t even remember getting shot.

One moment he was helping Bumblebee to his pedes where they had crawled out of the Decepticon base ventilation system, and the next moment everything was dark.

The pain struck him first. First freezing cold, then blinding agony. He could feel the scorched plating around the wound and the hot pool of energon collecting on his armor. The rest of his frame felt numb. He didn’t even know where he had landed.

His vision came back in moments of static-laced, blurred feed. He saw Bumblebee’s face peering down at him, optics huge and bright. Through the ringing in his audials, he heard yelling – Bumblebee’s voice, though it was too muffled for him to make out what he was saying. He noticed energon liberally splattered across Bumblebee’s bright yellow armor, but he hadn’t appeared to be struck by the laser fire as well. It took Jazz’s processor a moment to realize, oh, it was his energon.

Well, it was about time something went to slag. The infiltration mission had gone alarmingly well – Ravage was nowhere to be seen, Soundwave was preoccupied with ordering troops, and the Elite Trine was on the battlefield. He and Bumblebee had gotten out with barely a scratch to their paint. Escaping into the chaotic battlefield should have been the easiest part.

Jazz tried to sit up. He couldn’t afford to pass out from energon loss in the middle of a battle. They needed to get somewhere else, _anywhere_ else. Then Bumblebee could comm Ratchet and— and—

“Don’t!” Bumblebee’s voice cut clearly into his processor, over the pounding and the ringing. “Don’t get up, don’t move. Just— just stay here.”

Jazz wanted to talk, maybe say something like, _“Lay down in the middle of a firefight? You gotta be joking.”_ but apparently his vocalizer hadn’t rebooted yet, and all that came out was a short series of binary clicks.

From the corner of his visual feed, he could see Bumblebee’s servo pressing down somewhere below his chassis. He couldn’t _feel_ it. There was just that constant, burning agony.

Jazz had to reset his vocalizer a few times before he could get a sound out. “How bad is it?”

Bumblebee pressed down harder. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “You’ll be _fine_. It’s not that bad. Really.”

Before Jazz could say anything else – call him out on his blatant lie – Bumblebee pulled back and shuffled away. A new frame replaced his at Jazz’s side, immediately replacing the pressure on his wound.

“Prowler!” Jazz said, his vents spluttering.

Prowl shouldn’t have been on the battlefield. He shouldn’t have been anywhere _near_ the battlefield. He couldn’t fight for slag, aside from the occasional lucky shot with his acid pellet pistol. He should have been back behind the front lines, where they had set up their tactical base. Where Jazz had been supposed to rendezvous. Somewhere _safe_.

“I don’t know what happened,” Bumblebee was saying. “We got out of the vent systems, and Jazz was helping me up, and then the shot just— hit him, out of nowhere.”

Prowl didn’t say anything in response. His free servo came up to cup the side of Jazz’s faceplates. “You’re going to be fine,” he said, and Jazz, despite his damaged audials, could hear the wavering hitch in his voice. “Bee comm-ed Ratchet first. He’ll be here any moment.”

Jazz’s vision fritzed again when Prowl leaned over him, and by the time it began working again Prowl was focusing on the wound through his middle, both of his servos pushing pressure down that Jazz couldn’t feel. The pain wasn’t that bad anymore. Maybe he was getting used to it.

Ironhide moved into view behind Prowl’s shoulder. At least he wasn’t alone. Ironhide could get Prowl back out of the line of fire.

He coughed again, and this time he felt something hot and thick in the back of his intake. Another cough, and energon bubbled to his lip-plates. He drew in a wheezing vent, trying to clear the remainder, but it seemed to just keep coming.

“Fragging Pit,” Ironhide groused.

“Prowl,” Bumblebee began.

“No.” Prowl’s voice was hard, and despite the static in his visual feed, Jazz could _hear_ him clenching his dentae. “No.”

“He’s—”

“Where is Ratchet?” Prowl snapped, briefly lifting his helm from looking over Jazz to glare at Bumblebee. “I thought you comm-ed him!”

“I did, but Prowl—”

“No. I’m not going to lose him.”

He was dying. Quickly. Jazz thought he should’ve realized it sooner, probably back when the laser struck him. He always thought he would recognize dying when it came for him. He didn’t expect it to feel so… numb. Cold. But he could feel the warmth of Prowl’s servos at the edge of the wound, and that was nice. At least he had Prowl here with him, as much as he wanted him off the battlefield.

An explosion somewhere nearby rocked the ground, scattering dust and small bits of rubble around them. Bumblebee snapped his vents shut. Ironhide turned away and covered their helms. Prowl leaned further over Jazz, shielding the gaping wound with his frame.

“Prowl,” Jazz said.

Prowl’s gaze flickered back to his face. A servo, completely covered in energon, came up to brush his helm. “It’s fine,” Prowl insisted. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Prowl, you need to go,” Jazz murmured.

Prowl didn’t need to shake his helm; his whole frame was already shaking. “No. No, I’m not leaving you. Ratchet will be here soon. We’ll go together.”

They were going to go together all right if Prowl didn’t get away. The fighting was coming their way. The last thing Autobot command needed was to lose both its second _and_ third-in-command, its head of tactical _and_ its head of special ops. Jazz could afford to die. Mirage was a good agent; he could take over Jazz’s position well enough. But they couldn’t afford to lose Prowl, and certainly not both of them.

“Go.” Jazz’s vocalizer was losing volume.

“No.”

“There’s nothin’ Ratch can do,” Jazz said. He had seen the amount of energon on Prowl’s servo, the amount that had splattered over Bumblebee’s armor. The shot must have taken off a good chunk of his armor to cause that much initial bleeding. There was only so much Ratchet could replace, especially on a battlefield.

“No. He’s coming. He’ll be here. You’ll be fine.” Jazz could feel the faint tapping against the side of his helm from Prowl’s shaking. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Prowl.” Ironhide stood up, looming over Prowl’s back, Bumblebee peering warily around him.

Prowl’s servo on his face turned to a deathly tight grip on Jazz’s collar armor. “I’m not leaving him.”

“’Hide,” Jazz pleaded.

“ _No_ ,” Prowl hissed. He pressed himself over Jazz. “ _Please_. Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I can’t. I _won’t_.”

Ironhide let out a heavy sigh before rushing forward. He caught hold of Prowl’s back, directly between his doorwings. Prowl hissed in pain, his grip on Jazz briefly faltering, and Ironhide pulled him forcefully to his pedes. The warmth of Prowl’s servos left Jazz’s frame. His faceplates felt cold. He could feel the energon surging from the wound again.

Ironhide wrapped an arm around Prowl’s middle, unfazed by his kicking and squirming. He could faintly hear Prowl yelling protests, which Ironhide of course didn’t give in to. Ironhide quickly had Prowl out of Jazz’s line of sight, and Jazz couldn’t turn his helm to find them again.

Dying wasn’t really that bad. He saw Prowl again through a staticky visor, leaning over him, felt his servos on either side of his face. He could see his lip-plates moving, but he couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He thought he could make it out based on his movements; something like “ _please don’t leave me_ ” repeated over and over again in a desperate mantra.

Jazz would’ve smiled if he still could. It was a good last vision to have, he thought, as his visor shut down completely.

* * *

He came back around slowly, with brief interjections into consciousness that he interpreted as dying visions: White walls, a scowling face, Prowl’s chevron. Sometimes he felt things too: A tight grip on his servo, a thin mesh blanket over his frame, a stroke to his audial horns. Those were always the nicer ones, not giving him the same helm-ache as visual feed. Occasionally he could hear Prowl’s voice too, a susurrus murmuring somewhere nearby.

His visual feed returned once, blurry and aching. A faint missing pressure on his nasal ridge told him his visor was missing, leaving his optics bare. He groaned. Primus couldn’t let him keep that in the Well? Seriously?

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Jazz shifted. “Primus, is that you? I didn’t expect you to look so… grumpy. Or old.”

Ratchet scowled down at him, entirely unamused. “Primus better be grumpy after all we did, considering how determined he was to take you to his damned Well.”

Jazz recalled the laser wound, Bumblebee’s energon-coated armor, and Prowl. “Where is he?” Jazz asked.

Ratchet just nodded to Jazz’s other side.

A second medical slab was pushed against Jazz’s, separated by rails. Prowl was curled up, facing him, covered with a standard med-bay mesh blanket. A glance between their berths and Jazz noticed he was instead cocooned in the heavy blanket from their hab-suite.

“He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so I figured we might as well make him comfortable,” Ratchet said. “Said he wouldn’t leave you.”

Prowl never did anything in halves. Once he latched onto something, he threw himself into it with his entire spark. Jazz didn’t think Primus himself could pry Prowl’s servo out of his.

Ratchet sighed. “It wasn’t for lack of trying, though. Optimus tried to get him out the first night you were here and nearly ended up with a broken nasal bridge for his effort. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker refused to get close enough to him to even try.”

Jazz stared at Prowl’s face, peaceful and relaxed in recharge. “He was with me when you brought me in,” Jazz realized.

“Wouldn’t leave your side,” Ratchet confirmed. “From the battlefield to here. I thought he was going to cut off the energon flow to your servo from how hard he was holding it.”

“I thought Ironhide—”

Ratchet laughed. “He tried.” He tilted his helm. “He’s currently in the next room, with a bad attitude and an acid pellet bullet in his pede.”

Jazz laughed, and it pulled tightly on the fresh welds on his abdomen. He cut himself off with a groan.

Ratchet gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Good thing is, you’ll be back on your pedes in a few weeks. And I doubt you’ll have to worry about being alone for any portion of that.”

Prowl had fallen into recharge with his servo still around Jazz’s. Jazz tightened his grip, unwilling to let Prowl’s servo slip from his when he fell back into recharge as well.

“No,” he said, “I won’t.”


End file.
